Nee-Jerk Reaction

NEE-JERK REACTION

Volume Two in the Marcus Nee Series

by Ronan Joyce

Copyright © 2017 Ronan Joyce

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2017 Ronan Joyce

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Contact the Author

Prologue

Augsburg-Haunstetten, Germany, 1941

AS THE oversized Mercedes-Benz 770 limousine lumbered toward the air base, the man in the back seat sat uncomfortably in his opulent surroundings. He seldom made a fuss about such matters but the delicacy of the mission at hand underlined the importance of being seen in a vehicle befitting his status in the Third Reich. He eyed the velvet seats and plush carpet and was glad he had cleaned his boots before he climbed inside.

The varnished mahogany panels all around glistened in the sun and he could see his reflection in the polished chrome of the door and window handles. He looked resplendent in his leather Luftwaffe flying suit with the second-class Iron Cross he had won in the Great War hanging below his neck. His closely cropped dark hair, thick bushy eyebrows, and long straight nose blended in nicely with his German face.

He opened the drinks cabinet between the two opposite seats and was surprised to see bottles of the finest Cognacs, brandies, whiskies, schnapps and vodkas. A set of Waterford Crystal glasses, a gift from Joseph Kennedy, the U.S. ambassador to Britain, sat on a shelf of its own lined with velvet padding. Opening a mirrored compartment, he found a box of Upmann’s cigars and premium Swiss chocolates. He was relieved to see, amid the unnecessary clutter, a simple bottle of Bavarian still water. Grabbing the bottle, he opened it and poured some of the liquid into one of the crystal glasses. He took a small glass jar out of his briefcase and placed two homeopathic pellets from the jar into the water. Picking up the glass, he placed it to his lips and swallowed the contents, pellets and all.

He had long since taken to consuming his homeopathic remedies in private, such was the vitriolic criticism it prompted from his colleagues. He was horrified that his preoccupation with his health and his unorthodox treatment regimen should be such a bone of contention during his visits to the Berghof.

The road to the air base was lined by squadrons of infantry soldiers who stood to attention and saluted as the car swished past. Even if the size and magnificence of the vehicle had not alerted them to the importance of its occupant, they were forewarned by the red banner that hung from the silver flagpole on the right front wing of the car. It bore a white eagle and swastika inside a black circle—the insignia of the Deputy Führer.

Anxious to hold on to what little power he had left in the Reich, Rudolf Hess took every opportunity to display the trappings of his office. Even if this mission required him to wear a flying suit bearing the rank of a Luftwaffe captain, he was determined to show as few signs as possible of his diminishing status. Over the flying suit, he wore a tunic bearing the insignia of his true rank. He also made sure the uniforms of his staff bore ranks appropriate to their stations.

Erich Sommer, his driver and bodyguard, wore the uniform of a Luftwaffe major, and Karlheinz Pintsch, his adjutant, wore the uniform of a Luftwaffe colonel. Of course, those were only the ranks they were displaying for this mission; in reality, they were both SS officers of the Gestapo. Both men had been loyal servants since 1933, when Hess had been appointed Deputy Führer, following Hitler’s elevation to Reich Chancellor. Until then, they had been career officers in the Prussian Secret Police with special duties to protect government officials. In 1936, when Hitler unified all German police forces into the Gestapo, they became SS officers. Hess had no doubts about their loyalty, despite their rugged and daunting appearance. Their duties often brought them to Hess’s private home and they always showed his wife, Ilse, and his son, Wolf, the utmost respect. He knew that both men would lay down their lives for his and that they would protect his family during his absence.

Hess flipped open a mahogany table attached to the door, marvelling at the exquisite craftsmanship and the superior German design. He took a small leather-bound journal out of his briefcase and placed it on the table. The journal was worn with age, but the swastika was still prominent on the front cover. As he shuffled through the book, taking care not to dislodge any of the fragile pages, he considered the names that caught his eye and recounted the events that had brought him to this point in his life. It had been Hess’s idea to travel to Britain and negotiate a deal with King George VI to keep Britain out of the war. The Führer had been sceptical at first, but Hess had convinced him that the imminent invasion of Russia would make the prospect of fighting the war on two fronts more likely.

The Deputy Führer had begun formulating the plan six months before with his friend Albrecht Haushofer, who had been acquainted with Douglas Douglas-Hamilton, the Duke of Hamilton. Hess had arranged to meet Prince George, the Duke of Kent, at Hamilton’s estate in Scotland to get him to convince his brother, King George VI, to end Britain’s involvement in the war. He believed that the British establishment had no desire to be involved in the conflict in Europe and that their only real concern was the protection of their dominions and territories around the world. Thanks to his conversations with the overbearing Ambassador Kennedy, Hess knew the United States had no intention of entering the war. Through a series of clandestine intermediaries and secret missives, he had reasoned that Britain could never hope to beat the might of Germany, especially with a drunkard like Winston Churchill at the helm. And without the United States, Britain was on its own. After all, the British royal family were themselves of German stock and should have no wish to get in the way of the Nazi desire for Lebensraum.

Hess had to admit a certain delight at the thought that his brainchild had the potential to put him back in favour—he had long since been frustrated at being pushed out of Hitler’s inner circle by his disagreeable counterparts Hermann Göring and Martin Bormann. The Deputy Führer had always been motivated by his loyalty to Hitler and a desire to be useful to him; however, he had been forced to concede that only through the accumulation of power could he take advantage of his position and keep his place by the Führer’s side. But he understood that, should the plan fail, the Führer would deny all knowledge of the mission and dismiss Hess as a madman. This was of great concern to Hess, who was aware there was a chance he would not secure a peace deal and make a triumphant return as a hero of the Third Reich. He had to protect his good name and the good name of his father.

Reaching into the inside pocket of his tunic, Hess removed a letter bearing the official red wax seal of the Führer himself. He opened the letter, which he had received only a few hours before, and read it for the hundredth time. Glancing at the signature written on the bottom of the typed letter, he noted with pride the unmistakable hand of Adolf Hitler. He was convinced the letter, which carried as it did the best wishes of the Führer, would serve as a fitting testament that he was not a madman who disobeyed orders to embark on a fool’s errand. It also carried assurances from Hitler that, upon his safe return to Germany, he would be reinstated as the Führer’s immediate successor. Closing the letter, he placed it between the pages of the journal. He made no attempt to hide the forlorn expression on his face as the Mercedes turned into the busy airfield. God protect me as I do what must be done.

The car made its way between agitated soldiers who were loading cargo onto various planes and trucks. No matter how busy they were, protocol dictated they stand to attention and salute when Hess’s car passed. It stopped alongside a Messerschmitt 110 fighter plane parked just off the runway. Pintsch got out of the passenger seat and tried to open the back door.

‘Give me a moment, will you?’

‘Of course, Herr Reich Minister.’ Pintsch walked away from the car to give his boss some privacy.

Hess closed the journal, snapped its fastener, and locked it. He placed the key on the seat beside him and reached down to place the journal by his feet. ‘Remind me of the sequence, Sommer,’ Hess asked the driver.

Without looking at his boss, Sommer recited the combination of the secret compartment under the floor. ‘Raise the armrest on the left-hand side and lift up the seat slightly.’

Hess did as he was instructed and waited for the click.

The previous day, when he had taken possession of the car at the Reich’s Chancellery in Berlin, Sommer had taken the precaution of having the secret compartment fitted by a discreet furniture maker of his acquaintance. He had taken the same precaution for all the vehicles his boss had used during his time as Deputy Führer. The furniture maker had spent all night on the job and ended up with a mechanical hideaway that was undetectable to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

Hess pulled away the carpet and groped around the floorboards for the latch. He opened the secret compartment and placed the journal inside. Closing the compartment, he replaced the carpet and straightened his uniform as he looked ahead. He grabbed the key and handed it to Sommer, who was still sitting in the driver’s seat. The two men looked at each other for a moment, as if to acknowledge a secret pact to which they alone were privy. Hess patted the young officer on the shoulder and smiled. ‘Guard this with your life, Sommer. If I am not back in three days, you know what to do.’

Sommer placed the key in his uniform pocket. Hess got out of the car and smiled at his adjutant. He took another letter out of his tunic pocket and handed it to Pintsch.

‘See that this is delivered after I take off.’

Pintsch accepted the letter, which was addressed to Hitler, and stood to attention. He said, ‘The world will remember your actions today, Herr Reich Minister. The lives of millions are in your hands.’

Hess made an about-turn and walked towards the plane, eyeing the craft up and down as he went. He returned the ‘Heil Hitler’ salute of a nearby flight mechanic and kneeled to inspect the wheels.

Hess had trained on the two-seater twin-engine aircraft for about seven months under the watchful eye of Wilhelm Stör, the chief test pilot at Messerschmitt, and his colleague, Helmut Kaden. He had logged many cross-country flights and felt confident he could complete the task at hand. With a smile on his face, he remembered Hitler’s idea to publicly prohibit him from flying so he could later disavow all knowledge of Hess’s actions. It took him a while, but he found a loyal ground crew that was willing to turn a blind eye to his activities and keep the mission a secret. He had chosen his favourite plane and had it modified to include a radio compass, oxygen delivery system and long-range fuel tanks.

Hess considered it ironic that his nemesis, Hermann Göring, was a proponent of the Messerschmitt Bf 110. It was developed in the 1930s and was intended for use by the Luftwaffe during the war. It would normally be armed with two MG FF 20 mm cannons, four 7.92 mm MG 17 machine guns and one 7.92 mm MG 15 machine gun, but Hess had these weapons removed to make the plane lighter. After all, this was supposed to be a mission of peace, not war. The Bf 110’s lack of agility in the air was a weakness that Hess considered irrelevant considering the current mission.

Colonel Kurt Schmidt, the chief of the Met Office, sauntered out of his hut, followed by Kaden and Willy Messerschmitt himself.

‘Greetings, Herr Hess,’ said Messerschmitt. To the annoyance of high-ranking Nazis, the renowned aircraft engineer and designer always made a point of avoiding references to military or political rank.

Hess opted to disregard the slight and shook the designer’s hand with a smile. He also shook hands with Kaden and thanked him for being so patient during his many hours of training. All three men looked up at the plane and admired her lean design.

They turned their attention to Schmidt when the colonel coughed and tapped his chest with his clipboard for dramatic effect. Hess did not like the expression on the colonel’s face—he couldn’t bear another cancellation and braced for the worst. The flight had been postponed several times already due to mechanical problems and inclement weather, but Hess was determined that today was the day. Tonight would be a full moon, and his astrology charts showed that the planets were uniquely aligned for an immediate departure.

Schmidt looked at his notes and said, ‘Outbreaks of rain or drizzle are expected over the North Sea and will become persistent, and sometimes heavy, in coastal districts along the northeast of Great Britain...’.

That doesn’t sound so bad, Hess thought, as he allowed a frown to cross his face.

‘Patches of fog will affect the coast of Scotland. Otherwise mainly dry, with early patches of mist and drizzle largely dying out, allowing some bright, or short sunny intervals, to develop locally. Lowest temperatures seven to ten degrees Celsius, with moderate to fresh southerly breezes.’

Hess waited for the colonel to continue, but then he could wait no longer. ‘So, am I cleared for take-off?’

‘Yes, Herr Reich Minister, you are cleared for take-off.’

Hess raised his arm and punched the air with his fist. He allowed himself a triumphant smile and gestured to Sommer to join him. He took off his tunic and handed it to his driver. Kaden and Messerschmitt clapped their hands in unison, but it was unclear if they were happy for Hess or if they were just glad their part in his secret mission was at an end.

‘The time has come, gentlemen.’ Hess placed his hands on the rails at the side of the aircraft and climbed the steps to the cockpit.

The assembled onlookers watched in horror as Hess slipped on the first footrest and banged his knee on the aircraft. They waited as the senior Nazi grabbed hold of the rails again and made a second attempt to reach the cockpit. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Hess finally made it to his seat in the cockpit and began the pre-flight check.

‘You carry with you the hopes of the Reich, Herr Reich Minister,’ Sommer said, handing Hess a bag of supplies.

With a final check of the instrument panel, Hess switched on the ignition and tested the wing flaps. After the mechanics removed the wheel blocks, he eased the aircraft away from the building. Guiding the plane across the air base, he settled at